


the wheeling stars, amidst the dark

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: The Outer Rim [30]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Epiosde: s02e08 The Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Peli Motto is glad to see one of her favorite customers again, until she realizes he's come alone.  Peli learns what happened to the Child and the Mandalorian.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Peli Motto, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Peli Motto, Peli Motto & Original Character(s)
Series: The Outer Rim [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055645
Comments: 64
Kudos: 124
Collections: My favorite Mandalorian fics





	the wheeling stars, amidst the dark

Winter on Tatooine was Peli’s favorite season, a time when the fierce desert heat gave up a little of its cruelty. There was less sweating through her jumpsuit; not _no_ sweating, of course, just less. Water prices were better, and smugglers preferred to visit more often when the suns weren’t baking the sands below. More people, more ships in need of repair, more work. It was a good time of year.

She was at a lull today, though. Nothing to worry about. Happened now and then. She passed the time setting the droids on maintenance duties in between games of sabacc, checking up on inventory, and drinking through a pot of caf. It was actually cool enough this afternoon she could take her caf hot instead of chilled, and not feel like she was boiling alive. She took a sip. If nothing else, she was damn good at enjoying the little things.

She heard engines overhead and glanced up to see what was heading her way. An Intel X4 gunship, by the sound of it. It soared into view, and she narrowed her eyes in curiosity. Didn’t see those around often, but she could fix it. As long as the pilot was good for it, of course.

Her droids rolled up, ready to help, and she strolled out of her office with her cup of hot caf in hand. She blew on it idly as the ship set down on its landing gear, which had seen better days. She could already spot six areas that needed repair, always a bad sign. 

The more she looked, the more she saw. The ship itself bore marked signs of carbon scoring and was missing several panels and outer arrays. One of the gun turrets had been taken out entirely. Poor flying, it looked like, but it made for good credits. She could get a solid day or two of work out of it, easy. 

She waited, growing increasingly annoyed at the amount of time it was taking for the pilot to hurry up and step outside. Her caf was growing cold in her hands in the chilly winter breeze, and she frowned. “Coming out or what?” she hollered, perfectly aware that the pilot wouldn’t be able to hear her unless they opened the ship up. Still, though, it made her feel like she was doing something. One of her droids burbled to her curiously, and she shrugged.

After what seemed an eternity, the ramp dropped to the sand. She watched the darkness within the ship curiously, peering up into its belly as the pilot descended the ramp. Those boots -- it couldn’t be -- A grin stretched across her face.

“Mando!” she crowed. “Moving up in the world! Finally put that hunk of junk of yours to rest, did you?”

The Mandalorian stepped out of the cargo bay, each footstep on the ramp measured and slow. He walked down to her level. “The _Crest_ had a good run,” he said, as humorless as ever.

“Well, what happened to her? You didn’t blow up running sublight, anyway, or you’d be space dust,” Peli laughed, taking a sip of her caf. Ah, hell. She’d forgotten it had gone cold. She slugged down the rest, her mouth twitching at the bitterness. She leaned sideways, looking around the back of him for the strap of the bag he wore to carry the kid. But he wasn’t wearing it.

“An Imperial light cruiser happened,” he said. “The X4’s serviceable enough. But it’s going to need some work.”

“A light cruiser?” Peli asked in disbelief. “That would have blown your rusty tin can to bits.”

He shifted slightly, rested his hands on his hips. “It did.”

“Hang on, hang on.” She handed her cup to one of the droids, who trotted off with it for cleaning. She stared at the Mandalorian, spreading her hands out wide. “Let’s get one thing straight. Where’s my little guy?”

Mando stared at her, or maybe he didn’t. The helmet was impossible to read. But his shoulders rose and fell. Rose, and fell.

She knew what an Imperial light cruiser could do. Knew it could take down a whole town from above, let alone a little ship. Let alone a little ship holding a defenseless child --

“Mando, come on,” she wheedled, trying to keep her tone light despite a growing sense of dread. “You’re scaring me here. Where is he?” 

“He’s safe now,” said Mando at last, and even through the helmet his voice sounded _wrong_. Peli felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cool winter breeze.

“What do you mean?” she said sharply. “I don’t like how that sounds, I don’t like it at all. Sounds kinda final to me.”

“He’s with his own kind now,” said Mando, and his shoulders sank. He looked at his hands, flexed them as if he didn’t recognize them. “I found him a --” His voice hitched. He tried again. “I found him a -- a Jedi --” 

She heard it, then, the strain. That rough wetness to the voice. The Mandalorian was _crying_.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “ _Ohhhh,_ shit shit shit, Mando.” She hurried over to him, grabbed the great silver lump by his shoulders, and steered him into her office. He went without protest, his vocoder still relaying breathing that was too ragged and irregular to be normal. Well, if this wasn’t a womp rat in the water tank. 

She fought back her own disappointment, her face twisting as she shoved him into one of the chairs. She took the other, resting her face in her hand, and gaped at him.

“When did this happen?”

His helmet stared past her at the wall. He took a deep breath, and the weepy sounds were gone. “A few weeks ago,” he said, and his voice was all flatness, all emptiness. 

She shook her head. “I mean, I know you said you were gonna -- but I thought that was just talk.”

“Why would it just be talk?” he asked, straightening up in his chair, stiff as anything. “I was quested --”

“For suns’ sake, I thought you were just being religious or something! A figure of speech!” said Peli. “I never thought you’d really send him away. You were crazy about him!”

The helmet tilted toward her in a faint nod. “Yeah.”

Peli rubbed her face, trying to square what he was telling her now with the way he carried that little kid halfway across the Dune Sea, strapped to his hip, precious as anything. She let out a long breath through her nose, thinking.

“So wait. The kid was a Jedi?”

“He had… powers. He needed training I couldn’t give him.” This part came out all rote, like he’d said it a hundred times.

“But he had to leave you for that? Like, you still get to see him now and then, right? He’s not gone forever -- oh no, I’m sorry, oh, hell.” He wasn’t crying this time, or if he was, it was harder to tell -- but he’d twisted his helmet hard to the side as if she’d punched him straight through his fancy armor, and he’d tensed in a way that had nothing to do with being battle-ready. She froze, waiting for him to respond.

“I don’t think I’ll ever see him again,” he mumbled, bowing his head over his chest. His hands unfurled in his lap, palms facing upward like they’d never hold a weapon again.

_Damn it._ Peli scrubbed her burning eyes, hard, with the sleeve of her jacket. They sat in silence for several minutes, Peli for once at a loss for words. 

There was a small noise by the door. She glanced at it out of habit, startling when she realized it was one of the boys with her evening meal. She’d forgotten she’d set the droids on dinner duty tonight, not wanting to bother with it herself. She blinked away the stinging in her eyes and turned to the Mandalorian, slumped in the chair.

“Hey. You.”

He lifted the helmet slightly, enough so she could tell he heard her.

“When’s the last time you ate anything?”

He tilted his head upward to look at her, pausing as if in thought. “Yesterday? …day before yesterday.”

“Well, damn it, here you go.” She grabbed the tray from her droid and shoved the platter of food into the Mandalorian’s lap. He looked down at bantha cheese, sorghum bread and dewback jerky with apparent bemusement.

“I — shouldn’t—“

Oh, right. He was one of those that never showed his face, she remembered. She firmly turned her chair around and closed her eyes, shooing her droid away with one hand. She heard the droid go and reached, eyes still closed, to shut her office door. 

“I ain’t looking,” she declared. “But you need to eat, and if you wanna talk while doing it, that’s fine too. I got more things to worry about than what one Mandalorian looks like under his helmet, you know.”

A few beats passed. She wasn’t sure what he would say, but the fact he hadn’t outright insisted she take her dewback jerky and screw off was probably a good sign.

“You swear it?” he asked cautiously.

“I do. Cross my heart and hope to fall in a sarlacc pit. But honest, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll go out to the yard, or you can get back on your ship —“

There was a hissing sound and a faint _snick_. “No. It’s all right.” The words were followed by the sounds of eating and swallowing. Something in her relaxed slightly, hearing it.

Peli leaned back in her chair, resolutely keeping her eyes closed. Customers had a million weird requests and this was an easy one, especially since a well-fed customer always paid better. 

Besides, Mando wasn’t just a typical customer anymore. Somewhere in there between repeat business and the shared affection they had for the child, he’d become a… a friend. And Peli knew how to deal with those.

She settled her head in against the chair’s back and crossed her arms. “So,” she said baldly, “I take it you’re not exactly doing great.”

He snorted. Huh, he _could_ laugh. “That’s presumptuous,” he said, and without the ominous filter of the helmet, his voice was just a man’s voice, a little low, a little rough. There was a pause. “No. I guess not.”

“It’s not something people just get _over_ , losing a kid.” She waved a hand up over the back of her chair in what she assumed was still his general direction. “And I know, maybe you’ll say he wasn’t really your kid —“

“No,” he said suddenly, the word fierce. “He was.” He sounded raw, vulnerable. Human.

Peli nodded, her heart aching. She liked that he was admitting it. He’d always been cagey about that before, when Peli would tease him about his strange-looking kid and he’d mulishly push back, spouting off crap about the kid being a foundling, yadda yadda. But it had been obvious to her on their visits it was more than that. The kid wasn’t _a_ foundling, he was _his_ foundling.

“So then, he’s your kid,” she continued. She waved one hand where he could see it, underscoring her words. “And losing him… it hurts, right? Some horrible dark hole you can’t climb out of. Can’t see the suns from. It sticks with you, through everything you do.” She sighed. “It does get… softer, eventually. The dark sticks to the corners again. But it’s still awful. If you _weren’t_ a mess about it I wouldn’t like you so much.”

She could hear him breathing hard behind her. She waited. “You’ve been through it yourself,” he said, realizing.

“Something like that. Not exactly the same.” She shrugged, broadly enough that she thought he could probably see it even with the chair back in the way. With her eyes closed it was easy to see their faces as they had been. Her younger sister Prida, gleefully loudmouthed and brassy; her beautiful nephew Nedhi with his chubby cheeks and bright eyes. “But let’s just say you don’t get to be my age on a world like this without losing people.”

“No. I guess not. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” said Peli, though it never would be, not really. But she’d done her work on the dark, _hard_ kriffing work, and she didn’t want him feeling like he had to suddenly stop being a mess and focus on helping _her_. This wasn’t about that. “It was a long time ago. You don’t move on, really, but you move forward.”

She heard a faint click. “You can turn around now,” he said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“That’s me, Peli Motto, kindness expert,” she said loftily.

A faint sound that might have been something like a laugh shifted into a serious tone. “I haven’t shared a meal with anyone in -- not since Grogu.” The last word came out nearly as quiet as a whisper, but she caught it anyway. It sounded like a name.

She turned back around, opening her eyes and squinting at the sudden brightness. Mando’s helmet, back in place, gleamed in the fading sunlight streaming through the window. “What’s a Grogu?” she asked curiously.

“It’s the kid’s real name. I only found out recently.” He rested a hand on his belt, fingers tightening over one of the pouches. “You should have seen the way he smiled, hearing it again --” His voice had gone warm again, taking that tone he always used when talking to the kid. 

Peli grinned at him, picturing the kid’s strange face all sunny, his long ears tipping upward. _Grogu._ It fit him in a strange way, a weird homely name for a weird homely baby: just like how the bright little baby seemed to fit so well with the grim Mandalorian. This was good. This was progress.

But Mando caught himself, the warmth shutting off abruptly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about this. You have other things to do, and you’ve already done more than you needed. And I should —“

“You should what?” Peli asked. “Go back and mope alone on your new ship? Something tells me you’ve already done more than enough of that, Mr. I Haven’t Eaten in Two Days.”

“You have no right --” he began, half-rising out of his chair as if to leave.

“No right to what?” she snapped, annoyed now. “Point out when you’re gonna get yourself killed? Don’t think I haven’t seen the state of that ship. I _know_ you’re a better pilot than that, you had to be to survive in the junk you were flying before. If you’d taken any halfway decent evasive maneuvers it’d be in much better shape. You’re flying sloppy,” she accused, and he sank back into the chair.

“And if I am?” he said, and the hollowness rolled off of him in waves.

Peli got to her feet, pacing around with one hand anchored to her hip, the other flying around to make her point. _Tough guys!_ There was no end to their obnoxiousness. “Look. This is grief, Mando, and that’s the kind of shit that hunts you down and takes you out if you don’t face it. You’re not special. It’ll _get you_. But I think you’re good people, and I like having you as a customer, and I’m selfish. I’d like to keep you around instead of hearing you got yourself blown up.”

He lowered his head, listening. 

“So here’s Peli’s take on the situation. I think you wanna talk about him, and about what you’re going through.” She raised her brows. “And I think you should. I really think you should.”

He was silent for a few moments. She paced.

“And you’re the one to talk to, huh?” he asked.

“Unless you’re hiding somebody else on that ship.”

He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “Only in carbonite. But they’re not very good listeners.”

“Well, look who’s a funny guy!” Peli cackled. “Come on. I’ll get the droids started on repairing your ship. Let’s go up to the roof and take some time. Night’s nice, this time of year.”

“Fine,” he said, in utter resignation.

* * *

They sat on empty shipping containers on the rooftop where the breeze was best, watching the moons rise as the last flare of the setting suns washed across the horizon. The first star of the evening shone silvery white against the dusk.

Mando sat, shoulders straight and head high, on his crate; Peli slouched comfortably on hers. A thermos of hot chocolate sat beside her, a treat she liked to save for particularly profitable days. And for rough ones, too. It was still a little too hot to drink, and she waited, trying to be patient despite it not being one of her strong suits.

“Well, Mando?” she asked.

“What do you want me to say?” he replied. 

“I dunno. Tell me something about the kid. Something that made you happy about him. Or sad. Come on, they’re _your_ emotions,” said Peli. “Ahh, I suppose I should go easy on you. You don’t strike me as the conversational type.”

Another one of those dry chuckles. “I’m not. But I talked to him a lot.”

“Sure. It’s good for kids. Gotta mold those growing brains and all. What’d you talk to him about? Bounty hunting?”

“Not exactly,” said the Mandalorian. He angled his head to one side, considering. “I would always give him some idea of what we were doing, where we were going, who we were going to see. He seemed to like hearing about it, like it was a story.”

“Did you ever tell him any bedtime stories?” asked Peli. “He liked those, you know.”

He turned to her, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you mean?”

“How d’you think I got him to sleep, that first time you two showed up? You were off in the Dune Sea with that idiot hunter kid, and I had to figure out how to get the little guy to get some sleep, otherwise he would have eaten me out of house and home,” laughed Peli. “So I told him all the stories I used to tell my nephew Nedhi. The lost little bantha, the happy Jawa, the baby krayt dragon all alone in the desert. You know. The classics.”

“I’m sure he enjoyed them,” said Mando. “I didn’t really know any stories.” He shifted awkwardly on his crate. “I tried to make up a few, but it’s not exactly my forte.”

“Well, he did like the stories, but I think he liked them too well. Kept trying to act out the dance of the happy Jawa instead of going to sleep. Nah, he didn’t get tired until I tried singing a lullaby to him. You do _not_ want to hear me sing, but I guess it worked. Kids have weird taste,” said Peli, shaking her head. She checked the display on her thermos and saw the temperature had settled at the perfect warmth for drinking. “Hey, you want some hot chocolate? Mixed it special. I might have added a few nips of Rylothian firewhiskey; really gives it a kick.”

“Maybe later,” said Mando gruffly. 

“Your loss,” said Peli, pouring out a little cup for herself. She blew on the surface, then took a sip, feeling warmth suffuse her from the top of her head to her toes. She whistled. “It’s a good batch. Lemme know if you change your mind.”

The last daylight vanished, leaving a sky painted in inky blues and purples. The nascent moons crept shyly above the horizon as the starfield began to populate in earnest, points of flickering gold and white amid the darkness. 

“What was his favorite food?” Peli asked. 

The Mandalorian guffawed, throwing his head back. “He ate _everything_. You know he almost got us all killed on that transport trip with your Frog friend?”

“What?” Peli squawked. “I heard back from her later. Sent me a holo of her cute little tadpoles and told me you’d kept your word like a true Mandalorian. She didn’t mention a word about death-defying experiences.”

“We crashed on a glacial world trying to shake a New Republic patrol,” said Mando. “I was busy repairing the ship when she wandered off and found a hot spring. She was trying to keep her eggs warm and I was trying to keep them safe from -- well, Grogu found these spider eggs and started eating them. Turns out ice spiders come in a _lot_ of different sizes.” He groaned. “The biggest one was the size of the _Crest_. If I never see another ice spider, it’ll be too soon.”

“Oh, no,” Peli lamented. “Well, tell me you weren’t too hard on him. He couldn’t have known what he was doing. He was just hungry!”

“Don’t worry. He didn’t get in trouble. It wasn’t his fault,” said Mando. He lay back on the crate, lacing his fingers together over his waist and letting his legs hang free. “I should have kept a better watch on him.” He turned his helmet to look at her. “You were right.”

“About what?” asked Peli, taking another sip of chocolate. It burned sweetly on the way down, and she closed her eyes, savoring it. The warmth was a delicious contrast to the cool night wind. “Besides everything.”

“The first time we met. You told me I had a lot to learn about caring for a young one.”

She cast her mind back to her first meeting, remembering how Grogu had sleepily walked out of the ship, looking around in disappointed confusion for his beskar-clad caretaker. She’d seen a lot of shoddy childcare in Mos Eisley, but leaving a toddler alone on a gunship definitely ranked up there with questionable parenting practices. It was a move made either by someone foolish or desperate, and she knew which one Mando wasn’t.

“Yeah, well, you probably didn’t have a lot of options,” said Peli gently. “Raising a kid, it’s hard work. I tried to help my sister Prida as much as I could. My nephew was always getting into things and making a nuisance of himself, so I watched him a lot when she had to work. He was always messing around with my tools and getting underfoot; used to tell my sister I’d rather adopt a Kowakian monkey-lizard than have to deal with his shenanigans.” She smiled fondly. 

“Did your nephew grow out of it?” asked Mando. “I kept hoping Grogu would start listening to me for once, but he was stubborn.” 

Peli shook her head, swallowing. She looked away from him, staring off into the darkened desert, shivering slightly in the wind. “Never got to find out. The Hutts charged a lot for protection. I didn’t even know Prida was in debt until…” She sighed. “I came home with dinner and found them both. There had been a struggle, but not a very long one.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mando, sitting back up. His shoulders shifted, the angle between them softening. 

“It’s never the same for anybody,” said Peli. “Grief, I mean. I don’t know exactly what you’re going through. But I think the _shape_ of it’s kind of the same, even if the name is different. Son. Nephew. Sister. It’s all hard.” She finished her chocolate and reached for the thermos. More firewhiskey sounded good, right about now. “Sure you don’t want some, Mando?”

He hesitated, then reached out an orange-gloved hand. 

“That’s the spirit,” said Peli. She filled her own cup, then filled the second one for him and passed it over. She held hers up and clinked it against his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” he said cautiously. She turned away, keeping her gaze on the distant mountains, just the merest black line on the darkened horizon. The stars spangled the heavens, little jewels in gold and white. Behind her, the Mandalorian was apparently investigating his drink. She heard the click and hiss of his helmet raising and lowering as he drank, then a hacking sputter.

“You all right there?” she asked, resisting the urge to look at him in case she saw under the helmet. 

He gulped audibly. “It’s been a while since I had firewhiskey,” he said, his voice unmechanized. She heard him swallow again, this time without the sputter. “This is good, though. I haven’t had hot chocolate in years.”

“Even the packaged stuff?” Peli asked. “Aw, come on. You gotta treat yourself sometimes, Mando.”

“Treating myself usually means picking up a new weapon,” he said drily. “Grogu would have liked this, though. Without the firewhiskey.”

“Of course, of course.”

She sipped her chocolate. In the distance, a lonely krayt dragon howled, just like in the stories. It was a faint, pithy sound, but the empty sands carried the cry clearly, and it washed over them like the breeze. She and Prida used to cower at the sound when they were children. Now, it simply sounded like home.

“So how are you really?” asked Peli. She’d never seen much point in subtlety.

“I don’t sleep well,” he said reluctantly. 

“Sounds about right. It takes a toll,” said Peli. “Hurt like this messes with you. I remember I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything. It took weeks, maybe months, before I could sleep again.”

“Grogu used to wake me up most nights, talking to himself or crying or getting into things. I… didn’t mind that,” he mused. “But now he’s gone. And I still can’t sleep.”

“Dreams?”

She heard the click of his helmet settling back into place. “Yes.”

“Bad ones?”

A long, tense pause. When he spoke again, his voice shook. “Yes.”

She turned back to face him, taking another drink, letting the warmth of the chocolate fill her mouth and chest. She remembered that time in a blurry, confused way, broken nights marked by imagining how that fight must have gone. Dreams where she thought they’d died quickly, or dreams where they lasted for a while, suffering, on the floor of their cramped grimy kitchen. She didn’t know which she hated more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She looked down at her hands, calloused and wrinkled, a lifetime of hard work etched into them. But they hadn’t been enough to undo what had been done. 

“He almost died,” said Mando roughly, glancing away from her. Moonlight and starlight pooled and rippled over his armor. “The Imps took him. They were taking his blood, doing tests on him. Experiments. If I hadn’t come for him -- if that Jedi hadn’t been so powerful...” He sighed. 

“Shit,” whispered Peli.

HIs hands curled into fists. “He was so pale when I found him. They’d hurt him. Badly.” His legs, dangling over the edge of the crate, were trembling. All of him was trembling.

A white-hot rage burned within her, a fury that made her slug back the rest of her chocolate and scowl. “Are they still alive? You need me to kill them for you?”

He laughed a little, the sound cracking partway through. The trembling faded. “They’re all either dead or the New Republic’s problem now. But… thank you.”

“How could anyone hurt a hair on his head?” growled Peli. “You’re sure he’ll be safe with this Jedi?”

“The Jedi fought like nothing I’ve ever seen,” said Mando. “And he promised he would lay down his life for the kid. I have to believe it’s enough. I did what I set out to do. It just….” He rolled the little cup of hot chocolate around in his hand, then raised his other hand to lift the helmet. Peli closed her eyes until she could hear the helmet drop back down.

“It must have been so hard,” said Peli. “Letting him go like that.”

Mando set the cup down beside him and rested his hands on his thighs, the fingers flexing and uncurling. “I let him see me.”

“Huh? You’re hard to miss, you know --” Peli began, then realized. “You mean your _face_?”

A slight nod, the helmet dipping towards her and lifting back up. “I… broke the Creed.” The words hung heavy in the air between them. “I don’t regret it. He wanted to see me. And… I wanted to be seen.” His voice dropped, low and hoarse. “I promised him I would see him again. But I _don’t know_ that I will, and I -- I wanted him to remember my face.”

Peli gaped at him, horrified. “So let me get this straight. You lost your boy. And your ship. And your creed? Just since the last time I saw you?”

He was quiet.

“Dank _farrik_ , Mando!” she bellowed. A flock of lesser nightwings roosting on the roof took flight, scattering in the moonlight at the sound. “Look. You can dock here as long as you need, all right?”

He shook his head. “People are hunting me. What else is new?”

Peli frowned. “Fair enough.” The guy really didn’t seem to be able to catch a break. “Don’t want to put you at risk, in case you do get to see him again. And I’ll be pulling for you on that, believe you me. We’ll get you out of here, quick as we can.”

“I appreciate it.”

“You know, I figured out what it is,” said Peli. “What got me. You and Grogu remind me so much of Prida and Nedhi -- the two of you against the world.” Her mouth quirked up to one side in a half-smile. “Just don’t forget to visit old Peli if you get him back, you hear?” 

“Sure. Maybe you can teach me some of those bedtime stories for him,” said Mando. “For -- for the future.”

“Absolutely.” She kicked her heels against her crate, rapping an aimless pattern as she did so. The firewhiskey was starting to kick in a little, and she made a decision. “Look… just so you know, repairs on your ship are on me this time.”

“No,” he said sternly. “Full price. Plus extra for the food and the chocolate.”

“No,” Peli insisted. He was an obstinate one, that was for sure. She could see where the kid got it from. “Fine. Half price. You overpaid me the first time, remember?”

He let out an annoyed grunt. “Three quarters.”

“Deal,” she said, smirking. “You’re something else, Mandalorian.”

He seemed to be thinking hard about something, though it was difficult to tell with the helmet. Eventually he said, “Din.”

“Eh?”

“My name is Din Djarin,” he said. 

She blinked. “It’s a good name,” she said lamely. Huh. She hadn’t expected _that_. But then again, maybe _Mando_ didn’t sit on him as easily as it used to. The thought made her sad, the feeling mingled with a sense of something like honor, what with him sharing this with her. She suspected it was something he had done very few times before.

“All right, Din,” she said, trying it out. It felt heavy, and strange, but right. “Don’t worry. I won’t spread it around.”

“Thanks.”

She glanced at her chrono, realizing how long they’d been up on the roof. “Well, I guess I’d better check on how the droids are getting on with your ship, since you’ll need to get going.”

“I... have a little time,” Din said slowly, glancing at her. “Got any more of that chocolate?”

She grinned at him, heartened. “For a friend? Yeah. Of course I do.” She reached for his cup and refilled them both with the last of the spiked hot chocolate. She passed him his cup and he held it up for a toast. 

Peli hesitated, then smiled softly. “To those we carry with us.” Her cup clinked against his, a bright and hopeful sound.

“To those we carry with us,” Din echoed, and the mingled grief and gratitude in his voice cut her to the core. 

The moons above them glowed in soft whites and yellows against the endless sky, and the stars wheeled. Below them, Mos Eisley lived and hummed and moved on, its citizens striving, searching, seeking. The mechanic and the man in armor sat on the roof under the stars and moons, enjoying the taste of hot chocolate and firewhiskey in the cool winter air, and for at least a little while, they did not fear the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> A little sketch I did of their initial meeting. Poor Din :(


End file.
